


a fever i am learning to live with

by helloearthlings



Category: King Falls AM (Podcast)
Genre: Depression, During Canon, Friendship, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Loneliness, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-28
Updated: 2018-08-28
Packaged: 2019-07-03 22:14:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,094
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15827979
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/helloearthlings/pseuds/helloearthlings
Summary: Sammy had never lived alone before he came to King Falls.[Five times Sammy had to deal with living alone for the first time, and one time Ben put a stop to that.]





	a fever i am learning to live with

**Author's Note:**

> So, I have a super delightful ear infection. Love that. I'm fine and not at all dying. 
> 
> Anyway, I worked on this anyway because it seemed easier than the next chapter of the WIP, and somehow ended up a lot longer than I was initially thinking but then again, which of my fics don't?? I'll try to have the next chapter of my actual project up soon, but enjoy this in the meantime!!

Sammy had never lived alone before he came to King Falls.

With his parents until eighteen, then a college dorm, then an apartment with two guys he doesn’t keep in contact with anymore, and then Jack.

Since he was twenty years old, always with Jack. Platonically, romantically, that odd mish-mash their relationship was in the transition between the two, Jack has always been within an arm’s reach.

First their college apartment with Lily, that tiny three-bedroom with dirt cheap rent and roaches down the hall, and then a nicer apartment a few blocks down, further from the campus but with thicker walls and real air conditioning.

Then he and Jack’s first place just the two of them, still in two bedrooms, while they searched for radio opportunities in the city. They’d kept the two-bedroom, even after they’d gotten together romantically. They’d gotten a nicer one after that, and then a mediocre one as their last apartment in Chicago, all of them two bedrooms over the span of five years.

Then came Los Angeles, and the beautiful loft apartment in a ritzy part of town. Still two bedrooms.

Then the house they’d gotten together, a year before it all happened, a step in the right direction. A real commitment. Three bedrooms instead of one, but fuck, it was a house, a house meant for more than just the two of them. Master suite, guest room, nursery. It was like they’d finally worked their shit out, like they could invite guests to stay, like they’d have a family of their own someday.

Sammy hadn’t been afraid of the station seeing that his and Jack’s address was the same anymore.

**1.**

Moving is horrendous.

Sammy drives straight to the station from the interstate, all of his shit is still packed tight in his car. It’s amazing how he could fit a whole life in there.

Two lives, really.

Sammy had wanted to keep everything, but some things hurt too much to look at, and he’d taken them to a storage locker in northern California before he started driving east. The apartment here would be furnished, Sammy wouldn’t have to look at his and Jack’s couch any longer, the couch that had followed them through nearly all of their apartments. But he couldn’t get rid of it either, he just couldn’t throw away that piece of them.

Most of the stuff in the locker is Sammy’s. He can’t leave Jack’s things alone, not when they’re all he has left of him. It would feel like giving up before he even arrived, not bringing a box of Jack’s clothes, or his laptop, or even his stupid goddamn fucking notebook.

He meets Ben Arnold, hosts a radio show, someone disappears live on the air. Sammy can’t even think.

He drives to the new apartment, gets a key, starts to unpack his car.

It’s long, tedious work. His arms hurt by the time he’s gotten all of his shit up three flights of stairs. Jack was always good at this, the menial labor type stuff. The benefits of working out every day, Sammy supposes, not that he’s going to try it or anything.

His new apartment is small, not much space. Two fucking bedrooms. Sammy doesn’t like calling it _his,_ even in his mind. It feels like a betrayal of his and Jack’s house, the home they were building together. That was theirs – this, this is just Sammy’s.

He hates that more than anything. Two bedrooms. Sammy had thought he was over and done with two bedrooms.

The boxes collect dust for weeks. He get the essentials out, but unpacking seems like giving in, putting down roots, accepting his reality, and Sammy still dreams of Jack every night right now.

Sammy makes a deal with himself. Just one box a day. Unpack one box a day.

It doesn’t work like that. He gets through half of them, his half, before he’s left staring at Jack’s and he just moves them into the second bedroom and lets them collect dust somewhere else that he doesn’t have to look, where he can lock the door and shut it off in his head.

Two bedrooms.

Goddammit.

He tries to set things up, tries to at least make it a livable space. It came furnished. His and Jack’s bed is in that fucking storage locker. Gone, out of Sammy’s reach. His new bed is starchy and pressed and empty.

He puts shit in cupboards, goes grocery shopping to fill the fridge. He gets his stuff in the bathroom. Everything seems so empty.

He tries to set up the television a few weeks in, nearly cries with frustration because he’s never been able to figure out what cords go where, that was never something that he’d had to think about before. Jack and his quick hands and rolling eyes would fix it.

But now Sammy’s alone and doesn’t even have the fucking Netflix password. There’s no one to ask.

He follows the instructions online to changing a password, and a security question pops up.

_What was your first pet’s name?_

Sammy stares at it for half a second. Jack had never had a pet as far as Sammy knows; his and Lily’s parents weren’t animal-type people. He almost tries his own first pet’s name, Wolfington, Jack would’ve known that at least, but then he remembers.

What seems like lifetimes ago even though Sammy knows it’s only been a couple of years, before they got their house, he and Jack had been talking about getting a place with a big backyard so they could have a dog, and Jack had wanted to name the dog –

_Yeti._

_I guess I should be glad it isn’t like, Mothman,_ Sammy had grumbled, hitting Jack with a pillow, but Jack had gotten him to agree. It would be a great name for a huge dog, a giant of a dog, something big and slobbery and perfect.

That had been on the list of future plans. They’d gotten a house, they’d gotten engaged, their future held marriage, kids, a dog named Yeti because Jack’s fucking ridiculous.

Yeti is the answer. Sammy resets the password to something that Jack wouldn’t know.

Sammy sleeps on the couch that night, unable to muster up enough energy to even move. It feels like losing everything all over again. Then again, waking up every day alone feels like that, too. Sammy probably needs to start getting used to it.

**2.**

It isn’t that Sammy doesn’t know how to cook.

He does – kind of. But he only knows half of the things. He knows how to chop vegetables, make a pot roast, poach an egg, bake brownies.

What he can’t do is make an omelette, bake a potato, grill chicken, sear meat, zest a lemon. He and Jack had lived together for so long, their skills had melded around one another’s. If Sammy couldn’t do something, Jack could. If Jack didn’t know how to do something, Sammy would figure out how.

Sammy hadn’t realized that until suddenly he could only make it halfway through making any real meal without getting stuck.

He would never use the Internet for help, or phone a friend, or do anything at all really. He’d usually throw whatever he was making in the trash, the smell of it making him feel sick anyway.

He could count on breakfast as his biggest meal of the day, that was Rose’s Diner with Ben. Sammy couldn’t skip out on that, and it was someone else preparing food for him. He wouldn’t have to drown in his own inadequacy, always all too aware that he’s half of a whole and that whole is just _gone._

Still, as Sammy shuffles through the menu, he can’t help but think _I can make French Toast, Jack can make country-fried steak. I can make hashbrowns, Jack can do mash potatoes._

Sammy tended not to order pancakes. At first He and Jack could both make pancakes, it’s the only food Sammy can think of that they could both make on their own. It was a special thing – a surprise breakfast in bed, an apology, a way of feeling domestic and couply even after hours of pretending to be the straightest shock jocks in LA. Making pancakes together.

The idea of having them now makes him sick to his stomach.

But then Ben starts shoveling something called _pancake puppies_ onto his plate one day, and Sammy really can’t say anything to the contrary about not wanting them, so he starts to eat them and it’s fine, they’re good, he starts to have them often because they’re Ben’s favorite.

It starts to feel less like a betrayal of Jack as times goes on.

Sammy starts buying frozen meals, sandwich parts and condiments. He eats less meat, more vegetables, more things he can just pop in the microwave. He gets take-out more often; it doesn’t take much to convince him to go to Jack in the Box with Ben because even tasteless fast food is better than half a meal.

Besides, it’s too much energy to go through the motions of making meals only to sit and eat them alone. At least with the microwavable meals, Sammy’s not putting effort into anything, and they don’t remind him of Jack.

**3.**

Doing the dishes was always Sammy’s least favorite part of housework. He’d do them occasionally, if Jack had a headache after dinner, but their long-standing deal had always been that if Jack did the dishes, Sammy would do the laundry, and they’d both avoid their most despised chore.

The laundry, of course, is usually neglected. Once, Sammy even opens the door to the second bedroom to grab one of Jack’s shirts rather than clean his own. Then he can feel eyes on him all day, paranoia eats at him, and he never does that again.

But it’s the dishes that are the real fuckers, because Sammy is just plain bad at doing the dishes. He knows he could do it properly if he put any effort at all into it, but who cares?

He’s the only one here. The only one who’s going to use them.

He usually doesn’t use soap, just gives them a rinse. He’ll scrub them if there’s residue, but he’s likely to give up after ten seconds, and if that isn’t a metaphor for his life –

It’s one of the rare days when Ben’s at his apartment – if they’re hanging out at someone’s place, it’s usually Ben’s – when Ben opens the cupboard and says “Dude, what the hell’s up with your plates?”

“Oh,” Sammy swallows hard, making his way across the kitchen to look over Ben’s shoulder. Sammy thinks that the orange crustiness on the plate is burnt cheese from pizza, but he can’t be sure. “I keep meaning to replace that. I just forgot.”

“It looks like all of your plates have shit on them,” Ben’s pulling out dishes now and Sammy’s heart lurches uncomfortably.

“What can I say? Doing the dishes isn’t exactly a part of my skillset,” Sammy says with a forced laugh. “Maybe I’ll just replace all of them.”

Ben gives him an odd look. “Maybe a run through the dishwasher would help?”

Sammy can’t remember the last time he used the dishwasher. He generally forgets it’s there. “Yeah, maybe.”

“Well, if you really wanna replace them, I need to run to the Bent and Dent sometime soon,” Ben says, oddness all gone, the definition of casual and genuine. “I shattered my salt shaker the other day, probably a good idea to get a new one.”

“Did you drop it?” Sammy asks to deflect attention from himself. Ben grimaces.

“On my foot,” he admits, and Sammy alternates between Dad-voice-admonishing Ben with questions about checking for glass in his foot and teasing the hell out of Ben for his clumsiness, because Ben will always be the one thing that can distract him from his life falling to shambles around him.

He gets the new dishes, and Ben kind of smiles at him when he does. He throws the old ones out when he gets back to the apartment.

But then it becomes a cycle. If a dish won’t get clean, Sammy won’t try to scrub it down. Sometimes he’ll force himself to make the dishwasher do its job, but then he keeps forgetting to buy detergent.

So he throws those dishes away eventually, too.

**4.**

There’s a family of four that lives across the hall from Sammy.

Marissa and Josh are Sammy’s age, professionals, lifelong King Falls residents, saving up for a house. Their two kids are Lacy and Carter. Lacy is four, Carter is two.

Right above him are Leann and Mason with their baby girl Carrie. Two floors down, Ryan and Lisa with their five-year-old Elissa. They’re on the first floor, they have a yard, and a little Pomchi named Ronnie that’s always out playing, barking and yapping all day long.

It isn’t that Sammy doesn’t like his neighbors. Actually, he gets along pretty well with most of them, even if they’re not his friends by anyone’s definition. But they’re closer in age to him than Ben is. It isn’t weird and sad and depressing when Sammy’s hanging out with Ben, because Ben doesn’t have a wife and kids, nothing for Sammy to compare his own miserable life to.

Ben’s twenty-seven to Sammy’s thirty-four, and most guys Sammy’s age have a wife and kids. Give it half a dozen years, Ben will probably have that too, hopefully with Emily.

Sammy used to get insecure about that type of thing even when he had Jack, because it wasn’t like anyone knew, it wasn’t like he was going around telling people about his boyfriend, that they’d been together for more than a decade, that they loved each other and had sacrificed for each other far more than any other couple Sammy had ever been vaguely acquainted with.

Back then, the insecurities were about not fitting the mold, not following that pattern, how much he wished that he and Jack could just be seen as ordinary but knowing it could never happen.

Now, those insecurities had been replaced by pain. Because he’s missing that. He missed getting married, having a baby, a family of his own. All of that had been taken from him.

Sammy wants to go back in time, shake some sense into his past self. _Who the fuck cares if anyone’s going to look at you differently? You only have so long. You only have a few more years left, you have to make them count, you can’t be afraid anymore._

And isn’t that hypocritical as hell? Sammy still can’t even get the words out to Ben.

Still, whenever it becomes too much, when the onslaught of domesticity and family become unbearable, there’s always Ben to turn to. Ben’s as close to a family as Sammy’s ever going to get.

It’s enough – isn’t it?

**5.**

Even years into living in King Falls, when Sammy has gotten used to his new normal, how empty and quiet everything he is, how much he despises being alone but has made peace with it – he’ll still turn to talk to someone who isn’t there.

That’s the worst part. Knowing that any noise he hears isn’t coming from his own place, it’s probably the next-door neighbor. He never wakes up to the sound of the shower running, or of pots and pans in the kitchen. He never stumbles into the living room in the morning to see Jack curled up on the couch doing research on whatever he was obsessed with right now. He never heard the TV playing from another room or heard the sink running.

It’s so, so quiet.

And then Sammy will think of a joke, or a snide comment, or even just an observation, but there’s no one to tell it to. No one to listen to him.

Sammy misses just getting to make eye contact with someone, to know he’s not alone. But his apartment will never give him that. It’s smaller than almost any place Sammy’s ever lived not including a dorm room or college apartment, and yet it feels huge. It feels like every noise Sammy makes echoes off the walls.

He and Jack used to have a million inside jokes, references only they would understand, born of years and years of close contact, of never straying too far from each other. All of Sammy’s stories are Jack’s stories, too.

Except for the ones in King Falls. In this apartment. Those are just Sammy’s.

Well, Sammy’s and Ben’s. That’s why Sammy will make any excuse to get out of the apartment, and usually Ben will gladly let him. After a few awkward months of dancing around each other and not knowing how deep their friendship went, there wasn’t a day that went by that Sammy and Ben didn’t hang out outside of the station.

Even if it was just breakfast on a busy day, Sammy always got to see Ben. Weekends were the worst in the beginning, because there was no radio show to distract him, but now he minded them less, because he was almost always doing something with Ben. Out to dinner, movie nights at Ben’s place, hanging out with Emily or Troy or one of Sammy’s other friends.

Small town events – tournaments, Christmas tree lightings, picnics, days out on the lake where Ben tried to prove he could fish but failed remarkably every time while Ron and Sammy laughed at him.

Family dinner at Troy and Loretta’s. Awkward kind-of dates of Ben and Emily’s that Ben pulled Sammy along on. Hanging out with Mary, babysitting her kids. Even occasionally helping with Ben’s stupid fucking notebook that reminded Sammy of Jack every goddamn time –

As long as Sammy’s with someone else, he can pretend that he’s the person they see him as. The more time goes on, Sammy realizes that’s why he hasn’t told anyone, especially Ben, about Jack.

If Ben knew about Jack, Sammy couldn’t pretend anymore. He couldn’t be a different person. He’d have to be that guy, the depressed and anxious mess who was barely holding it together, who was lonely and miserable and had lost all hope.

If Ben didn’t know, Sammy could be Ben’s Sammy and not Jack’s Sammy.  Because Jack’s Sammy was dying without Jack there to hold him together.

What Sammy can’t avoid is the nights. Dreams of Jack, nightmares of Jack, he isn’t sure which is worse. He’ll wake up and reach out and forget there’s no one there.

He can’t avoid that he falls asleep alone every night. No one can help him there.

It’s always too cold, no matter how much he turns up the thermostat. He shivers his way through the night, and refuses to get another blanket. The cold would still stay no matter what.

He’s alone. This is when he has to face it. He’s all alone.

**+1.**

Sammy’s laying across Ben’s couch, not really paying attention to the television blaring in front of him. He’s finding it kind of hard to focus right now, especially on things that don’t matter. If Ben came to talk to him, Sammy could zone in a little more, but he’s kind of drifting right now.

He eventually becomes conscious of noises coming from the kitchen, and realizes when he blinks in that direction that Ben’s there making something. Slowly, Sammy makes himself sit up and stumble in Ben’s direction.

“Hey, I thought you were sleeping,” Ben says as Sammy approaches. Sammy’s dizzy when he stands up, so he immediately pulls himself into one of Ben’s barstools, opposite side of the counter than where Ben’s standing over a cutting board.

He’s got a concerned tone, but then again, every tone of Ben’s has been masking concern this past week or so.

Sammy is currently not allowed back in his apartment, which, honestly, he isn’t very angry about. He’s been sleeping on Ben’s couch, even though both Troy and Emily have an extra bedroom that they offered, because Sammy knows that as much as he can’t be alone now, he knows Ben can’t be alone either.

“Not really,” Sammy answers carefully so as not to set off any alarm bells in Ben’s head. Neither of them sleep much at night, a combination of the hours where they’d normally be on the radio being taken from them and the fact that they both have nightmares. More nights than not, Ben will stumble out of his room, Sammy will sit up, and they’ll watch television for most of what would be their shift at the radio station. “What are you doing?”

“Making dinner,” Ben gestures down at the cutting board, where there are a few different vegetables. “Got a bunch of shit in the fridge, thought I’d make a stir-fry thing to use it all up.”

“Okay,” Sammy says, thinks about it for half a second, then says, “hey, I know how to do that. If you need any help.”

Ben furrows his eyebrows in Sammy’s direction, sets his knife down. “I thought you couldn’t cook.”

Sammy shrugs. “Kind of. I know how to do some things. Stir fry happens to be one of them. Just don’t ask me to do the dishes.”

Ben half-smiles at him. “You know, the dishwasher is really great for that kind of thing.”

Sammy rolls his eyes. “I forget to buy detergent. I’m sure you’re organized enough that you always have some.”

“Uh, yeah, duh,” Ben says, rolling his eyes right back at Sammy. “It’s not _that_ hard.”

Ben immediately starts looking guilty, grabs his knife again. “Sorry – I didn’t mean – you’ve had a lot on your plate. It wasn’t like I was buying dish soap back when Emily –”

Ben doesn’t finish his sentence, just keeps chopping vegetables and not making eye contact.

“Ben, it’s fine,” Sammy says, and Ben sets down his knife again with a tight look on his face.

“Not really,” Ben says, shaking his head and still not looking at Sammy. “Back – back when I was a mess – you’d come over here and do shit for me, make sure I was eating, that I had clean clothes….and I knew you didn’t do your dishes, I knew you couldn’t cook, and yet I never helped you at all.”

“Not your fault,” Sammy says quickly. “Mine, mine entirely, I never told you anything. You can’t blame yourself for that, alright? You didn’t know because I didn’t want you to. And you _did_ help, Ben. Even if it wasn’t with menial chore shit that I couldn’t drag myself to do.”

“Well, I’m helping now,” Ben says, that determined glint in his eye that makes Sammy fear for anyone who stands in his way. “With chores and shit and everything else.”

“I’m not entirely useless,” Sammy feels the need to inform him. “But…”

He sighs, relenting, as Ben turns that determined glint onto Sammy. “I guess letting you help is the least I can do, after all this mess.”

Ben’s eyes soften, just slightly. “Hey…just keep staying with me, alright? Or at least with someone. I just don’t think you should be alone right now.”

“Yeah, of course,” Sammy agrees without even thinking, the thought of going back to his own apartment making him feel even more dizzy and ill. “I don’t want to be in my own – well.”

Ben laughs a little, breaking the serious tension. “This is such a rinkydink place, absolutely no space. You’re gonna wanna kill me within two weeks, I guarantee it.”

“No, I won’t,” Sammy says, smiling a little too. “I’m sure you’re an entirely decent roommate, Ben.”

“What a compliment,” Ben rolls his eyes. “But c’mon, you _know_ I’m gonna be clingy and not give you any personal space, and you’re such a loner. I’ll get _so_ annoying, I already know it. Living on top of each other is gonna drive you insane.”

“We basically already do,” Sammy tells him, almost laughing. “And with the station down….it’s gonna get boring really quickly being on our own. And besides. I’m not a loner.”

“Well, no, you have friends and stuff,” Ben says diplomatically. “But that’s the vibe you give off. The _please leave me alone_ vibe. The _I don’t do affection_ vibe. The _I need personal space_ vibe. The _don’t come over to my place_ vibe. The _Ben, I love you, but you’re so annoying_ vibe.”

“Really just the last one,” Sammy says, and Ben grins. “But…seriously, Ben. That’s not – that is to say – I didn’t want anyone at my place because my place is depressing. I’ve…shit, I never lived alone before I came here, unless you count the truly terrible few months before I bought out my contract in the city. And I _don’t_ count that, since I can barely remember them.”

Sammy shifts uncomfortably, now the one not making eye contact, staring purposefully at Ben’s microwave.

“Oh, right,” Ben says, a little softly, too gently. “Were you always…with Jack?”

“Pretty much,” Sammy says, grimacing.

“Wow,” Ben says, almost a whisper. “Coming here…all alone…God that must have been terrible.”

“It was,” Sammy agrees, switching his gaze to the refrigerator. “But, y’know, you made it a lot more bearable.”

“So,” Ben says after a moment’s silence, suddenly much louder. “You’re staying here indefinitely, then?”

Sammy finally makes himself look at Ben, who’s got that face on, the _you can’t say no to me_ face, and honestly, the face works and Ben knows it, the bastard.

“Yeah, sure,” Sammy says and Ben’s grin is almost blinding. It’s not a hardship to agree. The idea of being alone right now….

“Cool,” Ben says, voice endlessly affectionate before verging on teasing.  “I promise I’ll spare you from the dishes. We can make a chore wheel.”

“Alright,” Sammy says, mostly absentminded, as Ben grins.

“Dude, I was kidding but like…yeah, we’re definitely doing that now,” Ben says, looking far too excited at the prospect. “It’s been _ages_ since I’ve had a roommate. My last roommate was….God, Pete Meyers in community college?”

Sammy stares at him. “You’re _kidding.”_

“It was the worst,” Ben says solemnly. “Whatever you’re thinking, it’s that bad times fifty.”

“Pete went to _college_?” Sammy says, still not comprehending it.

“Well, he dropped out,” Ben says, a slightly satisfied look on his face. “But yeah, since rent’s generally pretty cheap here, I didn’t get a new one after he started that wonderful lawnmower emporium of his or what the fuck ever.”

“Well, I promise I’ll be a better roommate than Pete,” Sammy laughs. “Though you _have_ to tell me the stories. I can’t believe you kept this hidden from me for so long.”

“It’s because I’ve blocked most of it out,” Ben laughs, then his face becomes a bit more somber. “Alright, so – let’s get some of the stuff out of your apartment. Don’t go back there but – you should have your stuff here so this is less of my apartment and more ours. Also, we can get an actual bed for you.”

“Ben, it literally doesn’t matter,” Sammy tries to tell him but Ben shakes his head.

“It should,” Ben says determinedly and Sammy knows he can’t argue.

“Fine, we can get a bed, but that’s it,” Sammy says. “I don’t need my shit here other than the clothes and toothbrush and stuff that’s already here. I don’t care about my shit beyond that. The only stuff I care about in that apartment is – is Jack’s, and that’s not –”

“Then you should get that,” Ben says quietly. “I want you to feel like – like you’re at home, here. Like you’re not just renting space, like –this is a real home.”

“It is,” Sammy says, not even hesitating. “This – with you – it _is_ , alright? My apartment was never home, but – but the radio station – you –”

Sammy swallows hard, thinking of the place going up in smoke, and he can’t even think. The world just keeps taking things from him. But he still has Ben, looking right at him, sad and hopeful and desperate all at once.

“I know you can’t be home without Jack,” Ben says. “But let me try, alright? Let me try and make it better, at least. Make sure you’re not alone.”

“Alright,” Sammy agrees, because saying no to Ben is impossible, especially after everything the last week has brought them through. “But you don’t have to change your apartment for me. It’s entirely fine. I mean, I definitely disapprove of that Transformers poster you have in your room…”

“Dude!” Ben protests, coloring slightly. Ben has three posters up in his bedroom, an original Star Wars poster framed by a Transformers and a Lord of the Rings poster, because Ben is just too hilarious. “It’s just there because two posters are an awkward number to have! I had to round it out!”

“I’m glad you know that it’s embarrassing,” Sammy laughs. “Mike Bay, Ben. I really thought better of you.”

“Do you have a better poster in mind?” Ben mock-demands and Sammy says “Posters are for teenagers, Ben.”

“I’ve had them _since_ I was a teenager!” Ben groans, putting a hand over his face. “I can’t just – get rid of them!”

“Transformers are a very straight choice on your part,” Sammy says after a second of thinking about it, trying to joke, and Ben’s face splits into a delighted grin.

“We can go shopping for rainbow-themed stuff,” Ben says in a sing-song voice like nothing would make him happier.

Sammy groans. “Stop.”

“I’m so happy you made a joke,” Ben says, vibrating with the energy he’s been lacking this past week, and Sammy’s just glad to see that something has returned to normal between the two of them, that not everything has to be sad and serious all the time. “I will buy rainbow stuff, though. You can’t stop me.”

“I should have a say, now that I live here, too,” Sammy snarks, reaching over to hit Ben’s arm, not hard, just enough to show him that everything is ordinary between them again.

But Ben just can’t stop grinning. “Yeah. Yeah, you do live here now.”

Sammy does his best to smile back. Ben really can make him forget all of the pain and inner turmoil, even if for a split-second. The idea of staying here, letting Ben invade even more of his life, that’s enough to get Sammy at least through tomorrow and make him feel at least a little less alone.


End file.
